


Never Enough

by billiesbatsons



Category: Shazam! (2019)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Harm, billy is a depressed/suicidal kid and this is how he manages, but they are pining idiots, the freebat in this will probably be minimal, they are not dating/together, this will focus more on their friendship and how freddy is the key to keeping billy sane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-04-08 01:33:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19097041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/billiesbatsons/pseuds/billiesbatsons
Summary: Billy Batson, a boy who has lived on and off the streets for the past 10 years, hurts himself to avoid the voices in his head





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first real attempt at writing fanfiction. This is based off a headcanon I wrote about, but wanted to expand on. This probably takes place a few weeks after the end of the moive.

Billy winces at the familiar sting that the razor leaves behind on his forearm, but the warm liquid that begins dripping off his skin is somehow comforting. A reminder that he’s still here. And that’s why Billy does this -- to feel again. To feel something other than the aching in his heart. If he can force his brain to focus on the physical pain, he can stop the thoughts that run rampant around his head. Stop the voices of self-doubt and self-hatred, if only for a moment. His grip on the razor blade loosens and it clatters on the bathroom tile, snapping Billy back to reality. He leans back, resting his head on the lip of the porcelain bathtub. The tub’s cold surface sends a shiver down his bare back. The breath he draws in is shaky, and the tears he didn’t realize he was holding back finally break free, streaming down his cheek.

The door slowly opens with a creak, but Billy isn’t able to look up, to meet the gaze of whoever found him in his miserable state. To see the disappointment in their eyes. The pity they’ll feel for him. Instead, Billy focuses on the blood that now covers his skin. He hears the person shuffle inside the small bathroom, and lock the door behind them.

“B-Billy?”  _ Freddy _ . Billy lets out a breathy chuckle, because of course it’s Freddy. Of course it’s Freddy that finds him. That sees him like _ this _ . Billy brings his legs up to his chest, almost a silent prompt for Freddy to come closer. The other boy is motionless for a moment, but he eventually moves toward Billy, sitting on the closed toilet lid. Billy doesn’t dare break the silence, knowing if he does, he wouldn’t be able to stop the flood of unwanted emotions that comes with it. So he stares at his forearm again, the dark crimson blood still flowing freely.

“Let me help you,” Billy shifts his focus toward Freddy’s outstretched hand. “Please.” The pleading tone pulls on Billy’s heart and he feels a sharp, twisting pain in his stomach. Guilt. Not only did Freddy find him like this, but now he feels obligated to help. Billy lifts his gaze to meet Freddy’s, and again, he can feel tears race down his face. He  _ doesn’t need _ help, he’s been alone for almost all his life -- he’s used to doing everything for himself, to not  _ need  _ people. So why is it that when Freddy offers to help, Billy can’t say no?

The boy barely nods his head before he surrenders his arm, letting Freddy’s warm hands grab him, as he begins to clean the blood away. Billy drops his gaze down to the tiled floor, tracing the grout lines with his eyes. The old hand towel is rough and worn, and the pressure Freddy applies to his wounds brings the stinging pain back to the front of Billy’s thoughts.

_ You’re pathetic, Batson.  _ Billy squeezes his eyes shut, clenching his teeth and tries to shake the voice away. Freddy mumbles an apology, his grip on Billy’s forearm loosening slightly.

“N-no, it’s- I-,” Billy’s voice is thick.  _ It’s not your fault _ , is what he wants to say, wants to reassure. But the words are caught in his throat. All he can do is look back at Freddy, communicate with his wide-eyed plead and hope that Freddy will be able to understand what Billy can’t say. The streaks of tears that stains the other boy’s cheeks nearly breaks Billy’s heart.

_ Look at all the pain you cause. This is your fault.  _ The guilt hits Billy again, and he looks away, focusing on anywhere else other than the tears that stick to Freddy’s eyelashes. Anywhere other than Freddy.

“I‘m… sorry.” It’s a weak attempt, the words barely audible. The apology hangs in the air, the fragility of it becoming increasingly apparent. Freddy reaches out, the back of his hand gently grazing against Billy’s cheek, before he grabs his chin, and turns Billy’s head to look him in the eyes.

“Please don’t apologize, Billy,” Freddy’s voice shakes. “This isn’t your fault, okay?” Billy weakly nods, closing his eyes to let more tears fall.  _ He’s lying. _ “Here,” Freddy takes Billy’s other hand, placing it around the towel that covers his forearm. “Keep pressure on it. I’ll be right back.”

“No!” Billy snatches Freddy’s wrists, holding onto them tightly. Freddy, taken aback by the sudden outburst, stares at the other boy with wide eyes. “P-please.” Billy’s grip loosens and he sinks back down. “Please,” he mutters again, casting his gaze downwards.

“Billy, I need to get Victor and Ro-”

“Please don’t tell them. They… they don’t deserve this.”

“They can  _ help _ you!”

“Freddy,” Billy looks up, eyes desperate. “ _ Please _ .” Freddy stares back for a moment, as if he’s searching for something in Billy’s eyes. Blood drips onto the floor.

“Okay… Fine. I won’t get them. Let’s finish getting you cleaned up.”

 

Billy pulls a sweatshirt over his head, covering the bandages on his arm, along with all the other scars that are scattered around his upper body. He glances at the alarm clock that sits haphazardly on the edge of Freddy’s cluttered desk. 4:17 a.m.. Billy moves toward the ladder to climb back into bed, but stops when he feels Freddy’s hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, do you… want to talk about it?” Freddy hadn’t spoken since he agreed to not tell Victor and Rosa. His voice was raspy and barely above a whisper.

“Not really.” Billy shrugged his hand off, grabbing the upper rungs of the ladder.

“We could watch a movie. Or funny videos!” Freddy offers, hands moving in big, eccentric motions. “We could just talk about stupid things, too. So that you’re not alo-”

“Freddy, it’s 4 a.m.” Billy falls onto his mattress with a  _ thump _ . “Get some sleep.” The other boy stands there for a few moments, and Billy knows he doesn’t want to let this go. He wants to argue, convince Billy to do something other than ignore and avoid. But that’s what Billy is  _ good _ at. That’s how Billy has made it this far. In the relative darkness of their room, he hears Freddy lay down on his own bed, and after a couple of minutes, the soft snoring he does in his sleep float around the room. Billy shifts to lay on his side, facing the wall. He knows he isn’t going to get any sleep, so he stares at the cracks and marks and bumps intently.

_ Way to go, Batson. You ruined your chances here. You’ll have to run again. Pathetic.  _ Billy learned long ago not to respond. It only got worse if he tried to fight the voices, if he tried to defend himself. He wraps the blanket tighter around his body, silently praying for morning to arrive quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have some ideas for what happens next, so hopefully I'll be able to keep writing!
> 
> Follow my tumblr(same name: billiesbatsons) for headcanons and memes


	2. Chapter 2

The faint sunlight streams through the cracks in the blinds, washing Billy in brilliant hues of pink and orange. He rolls over, tangled in the dark blue blanket, and manages to read the time on the clock through blurry eyes: 6:49 a.m.. Climbing down as quietly as he can, Billy searches the floor for his black high tops. The room he shares with Freddy is an organized mess, at least that’s how Freddy describes it. A mess because of the piles of clothes and empty soda cans and wrappers scattered on the floor and the random pieces of paper and superhero memorabilia that lay on Freddy’s desk. But organized because at least the clothes stay with the other clothes, and the clean and dirty piles are separate. Usually. And Freddy swears he knows where everything is, he just might need a minute or two to find it.

Billy tightens the laces of the old and dirty shoes, and carefully steps over his and Freddy’s discarded backpacks on his way to the door. His hand hesitates over the knob, his heart twisting in guilt again. Billy glances back, toward his bed. To where Freddy lays asleep. He can’t help but smile when Freddy lets out a small snore, his nose twitching. That nose that has a myriad of freckles surrounding it, that Billy desperately wants to connect like constellations. He wants to brush the curls out of Freddy’s face, run his fingers through his soft hair. He wants to be the one to make Freddy laugh, to be the reason Freddy feels safe.

_ You’ll ruin everything, just like before _ . Billy turns the knob slowly, and steps through the doorway, stealing one last glance at Freddy, the pale sunlight glowing on his skin.

The cold bites at Billy’s face, and he unconsciously pulls his coat closer to his body, trying to trap whatever heat he may be radiating. He walks quickly, his footsteps seemingly the loudest noise in the unusually empty streets, though he has no destination in mind. Just away. Away from the Vasquez’s. Away from last night. Away from Freddy. The more time he spends moving, the more time Billy can avoid thinking. It’s the silence that always gets to him. The silence that seems to invite the voices into his mind. Those voices that remind him of every single time he fucked up. Every time he wasn’t good enough.

“Hey! Watch where you’re going, kid!” Too preoccupied, trying to  _ not _ think, Billy bumps into the shoulder of a man. He quickly looks up, panic written all over his face, and stares at the man.

“S-sorry,” Billy mumbles. The man fixes his coat, eyeing Billy up and down.

“Yeah, well… Just pay more attention, yeah?” He gently pats Billy on the shoulder, his grip firm, before he walks past him. Billy turns around, watching him in a daze until he disappears down the street. Shaking his head, Billy takes in his surroundings. He’s not quite sure where he is, but that was kind of the point, right?  _ Get lost, clear your thoughts, try not to think about last night.  _ So far, he’s doing okay by those standards. He notices a sign for a gas station a few storefronts away, and makes his way towards it. 

It’s pretty shitty, if Billy’s being honest. The lights above the gas pumps flicker and    
Billy can smell the distinct scent of vomit, cheap beer, and piss. His nose scrunches in disgust as he inhales, but looking around, no one is nearby, making this the perfect spot. He slowly walks behind the building, carefully stepping around broken glass and various pieces of trash. Billy checks again to make sure he isn’t being watched before closing his eyes.

“ _ Shazam _ .” The word leaves his lips, the sound barely above a whisper. He feels the harsh heat of the lightning as it strikes him, the electricity coursing through his body. He can  _ feel _ the power that he possesses. Slowly opening his eyes, he sees the last of the smoke surrounding him dissipate. “God… I’ll never get used to this.” Billy looks down toward his hands, turning them over and flexing his fingers, studying the way the muscles of this new body move. His gaze snaps to his forearm, the red suit covering the skin. The color almost matching the shade of crimson blood that covered the same arm just a few hours ago. He doesn’t know if the jagged cuts are there, if this body has the same scars all over it. His arm doesn’t sting as much as it did before and it wasn’t sore anymore. Billy has been hurt in this body, and those injuries translate to his normal, teenage self, but does transforming into this hero -- this  _ idealized _ version of himself -- get rid of his old wounds?

The distant  _ beep _ of a car horn brings Billy back to reality, and he carefully lowers his arms back down to his side. _ Okay _ , he thinks to himself,  _ where to now? _

Billy comes to a stop, the wind playing with his flowing cape, around fifty feet above the apartment complex. He didn’t mean to come here. He doesn’t  _ want _ to be here. And yet, his heart pulls him toward it, urging him to get closer. Begging to go back to  _ her _ . Back to the person he spent ten years of his life searching for. Back to the person who said she didn’t want him, who left him feeling empty -- lost. But he’s tired of running, and the exhaustion of everything comes crashing down on Billy. A little reluctantly, the hero lands atop the roof. He walks towards the edge, letting the sunlight warm his back.

“Shazam.” The call for the lightning is weaker than before. Being a superhero is cool and all, but when he’s alone… it just doesn’t feel right. He’s not saving anyone, he’s not fighting a bad guy, he’s just being Billy. And Billy doesn’t deserve to be a hero. He sets himself down on the rough asphalt, legs dangling over the sides.

_ You could end it here, Batson. Take the easy way out. _ Against his better judgement, Billy looks down to the street below. It would probably work. He would probably die. He wouldn’t have to  _ feel _ anymore. But there’s a small part in the back of his mind, that keeps him from doing it. That keeps him grounded. So instead of jumping, Billy watches pedestrians move about the neighborhood, watches the cars as they move through traffic. And he tries to focus on anything other than his thoughts or the sharp pain in his arm.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed, just that the sky has evened out to a pale blue and the air seems a bit warmer. Sticking his hands into his coat pockets, he feels the cool exterior of his phone. His fingers move across the smooth surface, unsure if he wants to look at the notifications he’s sure he’s missed. Chewing on his bottom lip, Billy slowly pulls out the phone, and stares at the black screen. He’s tempted to shove it back into his pocket, tempted to ignore the real world, if only for a bit longer.

The screen lights up, showing messages from his family, asking where he is. Asking if he’s okay. Billy hates that question. No one wants to hear the truth, they want you to say “yes” so they can feel like they did something. Like they helped you. But they don’t  _ actually _ want to help.

Billy unlocks his phone, and scrolls through all of Rosa’s and Victor’s and Mary’s texts, ignoring them. His thumb hovers over the conversation he has with Freddy. Why is it that he can’t ignore Freddy like he does the others? Billy presses his thumb to the screen and reads the 18 unread messages that the other boy has sent him. Most of them are just repeats of what the others said, but the last two are somehow different.

“ _ billy. please. where are you _ ”

“ _ can you at least tell me youre safe. please _ ” Billy’s gaze flicks to the timestamp. Both were sent in the last five minutes. The all too familiar feeling of guilt twists at his heart again.

“Shit,” Billy breathes out. He hates his heart sometimes, how it makes him feel. How it makes him do things he doesn’t want to. His thumbs move across the screen, and he hesitates for a moment, before sending the text.

“ _ did u tell anyone? _ ” The response is immediate.

“ _ thank god. i thought you were dead _ ” A moment passes, Billy watches as the three dots move across the bubble.

“ _ about last night? no _ ” He lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding in, and feels a wave of relief wash over him. Billy locks his phone, sliding it back into his coat, and turns his attention back to the street below him.

But the guilt comes back, and the tightening in his chest is all he can focus on. And the thought of Freddy worrying over him. Worrying _ for _ him.  _ You responded _ , Billy thought to himself,  _ you let him know you’re alive, shouldn’t that be enough? _ He closes his eyes, grinding his teeth together as he tries to think.  _ Why isn’t that enough? _

Billy’s hand goes to his phone, tracing the outline of it through the thick fabric. He takes it out again, watching the way the sun’s rays reflect off the smooth surface. Looking out towards the rest of the world, Billy takes a picture of the bridge that’s above the railroad track, and sends it to Freddy. Again, Freddy’s reply is almost instantaneous.

“ _ on my way _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean to take this long with an update, but man... writing is *hard*


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the break! I didn't mean to take this long to write this chapter, but I kinda got stuck and got distracted by other projects... And it also got more shippy than I originally intended.

“Why’d you run again?” Billy hears Freddy -- well, powered-up Freddy -- land somewhere behind him, but he continues staring forward. “Did another wizard give you more powers?”

Despite himself, a small smirk appears on Billy’s tired face at Freddy’s attempt at a joke. He was always like this, using humor and quips to make situations more comfortable. More… bearable. Billy knew it was a defense mechanism of sorts, if he can make people laugh with him, maybe they’ll forget they were laughing  _ at _ him just a few moments before. Billy would rather slip into the background, unnoticed. It made it easier to leave and move on.

_ You didn’t do that this time, Batson. When you leave, you’re going to hurt them. Hurt him. _ Freddy places his hand on Billy’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. He hears Freddy mutter the magic word under his breath. A small jolt of electricity runs through his body, from where Freddy’s hand lays. It doesn’t hurt, it’s more of a static shock than actual lightning. Billy turns his head, looking up to meet the other boy’s eyes, seeing the concern he’s trying to hide behind a small smile.  _ But I don’t want to leave _ , Billy thinks, finding the courage to fight against the voices.

“Hey, you know you can talk to me, right?” Freddy uses his grip on Billy’s shoulder to steady himself as he sits on the edge of the roof.

“Yeah… I know.”

“Do you  _ want _ to talk about anything?”

“Not really.” Billy fidgets with the strings from his hoodie, no longer able to look at Freddy, tears beginning to blur his vision. “I just… didn’t want to be alone anymore.”

“You’re never alone,” Freddy’s arm wraps around Billy’s shoulders, pulling him into a kind of hug. “You have all of us. You got me.” He sways into him, pushing Billy lightly. “Whether you like it or not.” And there it is. That full, toothy smile of his that makes Billy’s heart skip a beat. That makes Billy feel like maybe everything will be okay. And he can’t help but smile back.

They sit in comfortable silence, watching the street below them. After a few moments pass, Billy glances over toward Freddy, noticing the way he drums his fingers against his thigh. Freddy was never great with keeping still, and he isn’t used to not talking all the time. Not that Billy minds Freddy’s usual constant rambling; it gave him something to focus on. But he knew that Freddy wouldn’t break the silence here, wouldn’t dare overstep some vague line that even Billy didn’t know lay.

_ Why is everything so hard? _ Billy takes a shaky breath, relaxing his hands that he didn’t realize he had clenched so tightly that it left little crescent moon indentions on his palms. Freddy turns his attention to Billy, his eyebrows knit in concern and his eyes sad. It’s not a look of pity exactly -- Billy is all too familiar with those stares he received as he moved from one foster home to another -- it's more like… understanding? Like Freddy has been through this before.

“This was- or I guess, this is…” Billy’s already weak voice trails off, his eyes closing to try and stop any tears. He feels Freddy gently place a hand over one of his own, the warmth spreading through the rest of Billy’s body. He slowly looks up, meeting Freddy’s gaze.

“It’s okay,” Freddy lightly squeezes Billy’s hand. “You don’t have to say anything.” The softness of his eyes makes Billy want to believe him, that it is okay. That it will  _ all _ be okay.

“What if it’s not?” The question barely above a whisper.

“It will be.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’m here. I won’t let it not be okay.” Billy’s throat tightens as he feels the tears begin to race down his cheeks. He turns toward the street again, unable to look Freddy in the eyes. He nods his head, desperately wanting to trust Freddy. The other boy tightens his hold on Billy’s hand, trying to keep him grounded to this world. A moment passes before Freddy opens his mouth again, giggling quietly. “Also, I just know everything. You should know this by now.” Billy chokes out a laugh.

“Yeah, sure you do.” Sarcasm is laced through Billy’s thick voice. He glances toward Freddy, that stupid smile plastered on his face again. Billy likes being able to joke with someone -- he likes being able to be  _ himself  _ with someone.

“I  _ do _ !” Freddy’s voice cracks a little with his protest. “I am your manager after all. I mean, you even admitted that I ‘taught you everything you know.’”

“Wow. I’m surprised that’s what you remember from that day. I assumed you would only focus on Superman.” Billy can feel a smile forming on his face, he loved teasing Freddy about his…  _ obsession _ with the man of steel.

“Hey!” Freddy playfully smacks Billy’s arm, but he was laughing along with Billy. “He’s not the  _ only _ superhero I care about, you know.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Freddy’s face flushes and he immediately looks away. Billy’s smile slowly drops and his mouth goes dry as he processes what Freddy said.  _ He… cares about me? _ He notices that the other boy’s hand is still resting on his own. Freddy seems to realize it at the same time, and he quickly brings his hands to his chest, his face becoming an even deeper shade of pink.

Without thinking, Billy reaches toward the other’s hand, grabbing onto it and intertwining their fingers. It feels… right. Freddy turns to face him again, his mouth slightly agape.

“Thank you.” Billy’s voice is still rough and scratchy.

“For what?” 

“For coming here. For finding me. For not being a dick when I gave you every reason to be.” A small laugh escapes Freddy’s mouth, and Billy smiles again. “Thank you for everything, really.”

“Thank you for letting me.” Freddy squeezes his hand again, tears beginning to form, but he still has a smile on his face.

They fall into another comfortable silence, their hands still together and Freddy resting his head on Billy’s shoulder. Billy doesn’t know how long has passed, but he’d be perfectly content if he sat just like this for the rest of his life. And for once, Billy actually starts to believe that maybe things will be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I kinda knew when I decided to keep going with this story that it would be a kind of vague ending. I probably won't write the recovery process(I don't think I could do it well) but just know that this boy will be okay!  
> Hopefully this ending is satisfying enough for everyone!
> 
> And thank you if you commented or left kudos or bookmarked! It means a lot to me and makes me want to write more in the future <3


End file.
